


Contact Light

by scarlett_the_seachild



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Colonialism, Empire vs Rebels, Intergalactic Warfare, M/M, Mentions of Slavery, disclaimer: the author does not know science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 21:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13667499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlett_the_seachild/pseuds/scarlett_the_seachild
Summary: Some 300 years from now and despite the reaches of colonialism stretching to still wilder, and less governable planets than Earth the Galaxy has yet to throw off the chains of Empire. Alexander intends to change that, even if it means going all the way back to 1776 and finding out exactly what went wrong.If only he hadn't met that cute boy, though.





	Contact Light

**Author's Note:**

> God knows what this is. it was supposed to be fun exercise that would only take 2 hours - then it turned into a thing. Anyway, i hope you enjoy it.

Alexander pulled self-consciously at his bow tie, his third canapé sliding with difficulty down his throat. He was ninety-five percent sure it was too tight. True, he didn’t claim to know a lot about fancy clothing, the most formally dressed he’d ever been before now having been for his last job interview. As uncomfortable as he’d felt aged fourteen, in a starched white shirt and too-big blazer, and as much he’d been assured then that he looked fine, he was willing to bet the black silk around his neck wasn’t supposed to be cutting off his blood circulation.

Earlier, Angelica had secured the knot for him while Eliza looked on, hands clasped before her delightedly.

“You look so handsome,” she’d gushed, smoothing engine dust or whatever else off the dark satin of his shoulders.

Angelica had taken a step back to admire her handiwork, one eyebrow quirked. “You’ll do,” she settled.

Spotting his reflection in the telecom screen, Alexander didn’t think he looked handsome. He thought he looked like a vertically challenged adolescent still growing into his shoulders, which were almost up to his ears due to the amount of padding, and he told Angelica as much.

Predictably, her reply had not been sympathetic.

“You do realise that you’re not actually there as a party guest,” she’d said. “And that the only reason we’re not sending you down in your overalls is because security’s tighter than Henry Laurens’ new wife’s-”

“Don’t finish that sentence please,” said Eliza primly, sliding her silken gloves prettily onto her hands.

Alexander did realise this because actually he was not stupid. But also, as well as intelligence, the Good Lord of the Five Suns had seen fit to bequeath him with a great deal of pride, a lot of which came from his personal appearance. After a long battle he had finally succeeded in getting Angelica to take out the shoulder pads; even so, watching Eliza glide round the room in her beautiful, powder-blue dress and looking as though the very ballroom had been fashioned to suit her, he couldn’t help but feel decidedly out of place.

He took another canapé. He wasn’t sure exactly what was in them; he’d never seen food like this before in his life, let alone so _much._ Glanced around the length of the ballroom he wondered how many slaves it had taken to prepare such an elaborate event. The thought made him a little sick. He placed the pastry back on its dish.

“Are you not going to eat that?”

Starting, he glanced up into the heavily painted, tight-lipped face of a woman, staring at him disapprovingly. Her carrot-coloured hair had been sculpted elaborately into what looked like antlers and it took Alexander a moment to get over them before he could answer.  

“Er no,” replied Alexander, trying to sound casually entitled rather than embarrassed. “I just remembered I’m allergic to…erm…” he glanced at the tray, trying to gather a hint of what was in them. “Tentacles.”

The woman pursed her prunish mouth, eyes flitting over Alexander briefly before turning to whisper unsubtly in her friend’s ear. Despite his disguise, Alexander felt a very real tremor of hatred bubble in the pit of his stomach. Judging from appearances, they had never seen anyone from the Borderplanets before and in one rash action, Alexander had just confirmed all their suspicions. Not for the first time that evening, he wondered about the wisdom of sending him on this mission instead of Lafayette, or even Mulligan.

“Lafayette’s rendezvousing with Rochambeau on PARIS,” came a voice in his ear. “And Mulligan’s trade is too well known.”

“Fucking hell Ben,” Alexander hissed, striding away from the table so that carrot-top wouldn’t catch him talking to himself and wonder if all Borderplaneters were mad as well as vulgar. “Don’t _do_ that.”

“You keep spacing out. It’s making it easy.”

“You remember that consent thing we talked about? Just because you’re psychic or whatever doesn’t entitle you to forget it.”

“Sorry,” said Tallmadge through the microphone. “Your thoughts are really loud today.”

“Yeah, that’s because I’m stressed as fuck,” muttered Alex, turning his back under the pretext of busying himself with champagne. “Have you spotted anything?”

Even though Alexander couldn’t see Ben the way he knew Ben could see him, he could still picture his frustration as his voice returned noticeably clipped. “Not yet,” he replied. “I feel like you’re not talking to the right people.”

“Oh right, because I’m just supposed to go up to random guests and ask if anyone’s seen anything that looks like a _time machine,”_ Alexander rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you get inside Eliza’s head if you’re so up for socialising?”

“Eliza doesn’t need me in her head.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“I just meant for the sake of direction,” said Ben, oblivious to Alexander’s lip curled bitterly. “She grew up in this world. Besides, she’s only really here as distraction while you do the real work.”

“Right, the real work,” nodded Alexander, examining an ornament which probably cost more than his home planet. “And when does that begin, exactly?”

There was no answer. Alexander huffed, wondering whether he had lost connection or if Ben was just being shitty.

He meandered around the ballroom for a little while, twirling his champagne and forcing smiles at the members of the elite who passed him. Strange, when he was younger he would have given anything to attend a Centralplanet party like this. Now though, despite (or perhaps because of) the cool air, wafted from enormous fans held by the boys of CAROLINA’s many harvest moons, he felt hot and stifled. His borrowed tux, in reality too long in the sleeve felt too small, the bow tie vindictively tight against his Adam’s apple. 

“Hold on,” Ben’s voice again, suddenly urgent. “I’m getting vibes.”

Alexander halted, glancing nervously at the guests around him. “Like…good vibes, or ‘we gotta run before the whole of Britannia’s Redguard comes bursting through those pretty French windows’?”

“Like I think I know where the part is.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Alexander. “Cool. Where?”

“Go up the stairs.”

Alexander raised onto his tiptoes, trying to see over the many ridiculous hairdos for a glimpse of Eliza. When he caught sight of her blue dress he gave her the signal, raising his champagne glass above his head. She nodded, making an immediate beeline for Henry Laurens and engaging him in animated conversation while Hamilton slipped out of the room and made for the staircase.

“Now what?” he asked Ben once he reached the landing, anxious now that they no longer had the babble of conversation as cover.

“First door on the left,” Ben replied. “No…wait. Second.”

Alexander hesitated, glancing over his shoulder before pushing open the door.

It opened up onto a library, thousands of categorised archives and databases as well as _real, actual books_ pulsing temptingly from mahogany shelves. Before Alexander had a chance to properly nerd out however Ben was urging him forwards.

“Alright, it’s in one of these,” he said.

Alexander turned a scandalised expression in the direction he imagined Ben’s consciousness to be. “Are you shitting me?” he demanded, holding the microphone close. “Ben…there’s gotta be _thousands_ in here-”

“I know, I know,” Ben snapped. “Just…give me a second.”

While Ben did whatever it was Ben did, Alexander entertained himself gawking over a 2015 edition of 50 Shades of Grey, still in brilliant condition. He had just moved on to examining the old Internet archives when Ben spoke again.

“Row D,” he said.

Alexander waited for elaboration and when none came, prompted him. “Can we get a little more specific, here?”

“Uh…” again Alexander pictured Ben’s face, chewing his lip as he tried to focus. “In the middle, maybe?”

Alexander blew out a frustrated breath, turning to the centre of the shelf and beginning to sort through the archives.

There was the sound of the door clicking open. Alexander leapt back, almost pulling the entire row down with him.

A young man stood in the doorway. His eyes went automatically to Alexander, widening upon the realisation that there was someone here. “Oh,” he exclaimed, voice a little rude with surprise. “Hello.”

“Hi,” squeaked Alex. Automatically his hands flew to his hair, self-consciously checking the ribbon was still in place.

The young man closed the door, drowning out the noise of the party. He frowned as he looked Alexander up and down. “Do I know you?” he asked.

“Erm,” Alexander racked his brains, trying to remember the brief Burr had forced him to memorise before sending them off. “…Should you?”

“I’m John Laurens,” said the man with the easy, self-explanatory way of someone who has said his name many times before. “My father is the Commander.”

“Oh!” said Alexander, genuinely trying to remember if he had heard the name even once before in his life. “Of course!”

John Laurens’ mouth crooked into a grin. “It’s fine if you don’t know,” he assured Alexander. “He doesn’t talk about me much.”

Alexander nodded, “Aha.”

Feeling increasingly awkward, he gestured ambiguously around the room. “You have a nice library,” he said somewhat lamely.

Laurens made an “Mmm” sound in vague agreement, casting his eye indifferently over the shelves. “Thanks. It was my fifteenth birthday present.”

Alexander’s eyes bulged so hard he thought they might drop out of his skull. “Your…your fifteenth…?”

“Ya,” Laurens nodded, oblivious to Alexander’s intrigue. “I like to think I’ve put it to good use. I’ve certainly spent a lot of time in it.”

Alexander nodded vigorously. “I would too,” he told him. “If I had a place like this.” He paused, thinking about the party and what could have driven Henry Laurens’ son to leave it. “That boring, huh?”

Laurens frowned. “What?”

“The party. That you had to come and get a book. Or are you doing a sorta group reading?”

Laurens laughed, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously. “Er, no,” he admitted, looking embarrassed. “It’s just er…quite a convenient place to…er…”

“Escape?” Hamilton prompted when no elaboration followed.

“Yeah,” said Laurens, breathing out heavily as though grateful Alex had provided the word for him.

Alexander nodded sympathetically, thinking of how the guests’ lips had curled over his too-large tux, the dark copper of his skin. “It’s alright,” he said, smiling cheekily. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Laurens’ gaze shifted from the bookshelves to meet his and Alexander took his face in for the first time. He was…well. He was very handsome, in the sort of way some people can afford to be. His face was thin, the cheeks hollow and skin tanned the light brownish-gold of time spent outdoors frivolously rather than from compulsion. His eyes were blue like an atmosphere fresh from being Terraformed, so clear that if you breathed it in it would hurt your lungs. His dark curly hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few escaped strands falling across thick brows with a sort of casual grace.

Alexander looked him up and down, eyes roving over a slim, athletic body, well formed from riding and fencing. _His_ tux fit very well.

“I’m sorry,” said Laurens, voice courteous now that he had recovered from his surprise. “What did you say your name was?”

“Gilbert,” Alexander automatically said the first name that came into his head _and why, WHY did it have to be that one, seriously ‘Angelica’ would have been better_

“…Gilbert?”

“Tallmadge,” it cost every effort for Alexander not to cringe visibly.

Laurens extended his hand for him to shake. “I’m afraid I don’t know the name,” he said apologetically. “Although I’m sure it’s a very noble one.”

Alexander suppressed a laugh. “Ah…no, you wouldn’t,” he confessed. “I’m not exactly from around here.”

To his credit, Laurens didn’t pretend to look surprised. “Where are you from?”

“You wouldn’t know it.”

“Try me.”

Alexander’s mouth twisted wryly. “ST. CROIX?”

Embarrassment bloomed across John Laurens’ aristocratic, hollowed cheeks. “…Ok, sorry, I don’t know it.”

Alexander smirked. “It’s technically a moon.” He hesitated before adding, “Off one of the Borderplanets.”

Laurens’ eyes widened and Alexander experienced a deep, bitterly masochistic curling of satisfaction as his mouth worked against his impulse reaction, trying not to cause offence. “Oh…well…I don’t pretend to know…very much about…around there…but I’m sure it’s lovely-”

This time, Hamilton couldn’t keep the laugh from spilling to the surface. “Save yourself the trouble,” he said kindly, taking pity on him. “I don’t want to force you into being racist.”

Laurens looked deeply resentful. “I wasn’t going to say anything racist,” he muttered, voice wounded. “I was telling the truth. I don’t know anything about the Borderplanets. I’m sure whatever I’ve heard is nothing more than colonialist, Redguard propaganda.” He paused, looking sheepish before asking shyly, “Do you like ST. CROIX?”

Alexander shrugged. “I wouldn’t go back,” he replied evasively. “But that’s not ST. CROIX’s fault.”

Laurens hummed as if he knew and understood what Alexander was talking about. Alexander, who was quite unsure why he had just spoken more about his past in the last three minutes than he had done in three months to a complete stranger, glanced around distractedly, trying to think of a route out of this situation. Before his mind could settle on an exit strategy however, Laurens was speaking again.

“Forgive me,” he began uncertainly, glance flickering as if wary of insult. “But uh…I didn’t know my father knew many people from the Borderplanets. How is it you know him?” _How did you come to be invited here, in my house, in my library?_

Alexander shook his head. “I don’t,” he confessed, thinking it wisest to stick as close to the truth as possible. “I’m here to escort Miss Elizabeth Schuyler.”

Laurens’ eyebrows flew upwards. “Oh,” he exclaimed, and was it Alexander’s imagination but did he sound a little disappointed? “You’re courting her?”

Again, Hamilton swallowed a bark of laughter at the phrasing. _Courting._ Wow. What kind of world did these people come from? But Laurens was looking at him with great interest, probably thinking him some kind of social climber. He shook his head quickly. “No,” he answered, mouth still twitching with the urge to smile. “I’m just a friend of the family.”

The look on Laurens’ face made him regret it instantly. Indignation rose in Hamilton’s chest, swift and fiery. “I’m not their slave,” he said furiously.

Laurens blinked, horror sweeping across his face. “I didn’t…I wasn’t…”

“You were thinking it,” snapped Hamilton.

Once again, Alexander found his respect reluctantly nudged when Laurens didn’t try to deny it. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. There was a long silence before he spoke again. “I hate slavery.”

Alexander snorted. “I’m sure you do,” he said, thinking about how many it had taken to build this library.

“No, I mean it,” Laurens insisted. “My father…he doesn’t understand. He believes in Independence but he doesn’t realise Liberty is more than just a theory…a philosophy…he likes to keep things conceptual.” He huffed slightly, blowing a loose curl upwards. “We’ve fought about it.”

Alexander didn’t say anything. Laurens looked as though he were in the middle of a confession but was struggling to find the words for it. “I have a plan,” he managed at last. “For a squadron from CAROLINA’s harvest moons. I gave it to father to push through Congress…he said my sentiments were _admirable.”_ His lip curled, face darkening with a look of deepest disgust, so sudden and shocking that Hamilton was struck by it.

“It’s a joke,” he continued, every word venomous. “These people…these great men. They sit around and talk about _freedom_ like it really means something to them. Like they have the slightest _clue_ what it means. And they use that same language against Britannia and The Empire but when anyone dares to use it against them, in regards to something real, something _physical-”_

He stopped. It wasn’t so much that he had trailed off, more that he was so angry it was choking him and he had caught himself just in time. Hamilton found himself smiling sourly. “I’m guessing you’re not a fan of Thomas Jefferson.”

Laurens’ head jerked up, eyes blazing with rage. _“Fuck_ Thomas Jefferson.”

Alexander’s grin broadened, a memory of himself screaming the same thing out of a jet airlock flashing across his mind. “Another admirable sentiment,” he commented. “I’m getting the feeling you have more than a few of those.”

“Well, y’know. Only so many as I can afford.”

“I thought you couldn’t put a price on Liberty.”

“Only the wealthy say that.”

“You exclude yourself?”

“On the contrary,” Laurens’ eyes blazed as they locked on Alexander’s. “I’m willing to pay the full cost. As much good as my blood will raise.”

Alexander smirked, turning his gaze towards the ceiling. “I daresay your blood would raise a good deal, given the opportunity.”

“Oh? You’d set a price on that?”

“I wouldn’t insult you,” replied Hamilton, risking a glance and relieved to see Laurens was also smiling suggestively. “And I’m sure I couldn’t afford it.”

Laurens’ lip twitched. “Don’t be so certain.” He looked at Alexander oddly. “Are you sure we haven’t met?” he asked. “I don’t know why…something about you seems familiar.”

Hamilton shrugged. “I don’t see how we could have done.” _You were eating tentacles on toast while I got black-lung down a uranium mine._ “In another life, maybe.”

John Laurens’ expression morphed from coy into dismissiveness. “I don’t believe in that.”

Alexander looked at him sceptically. “You don’t believe in Transmigration?”

“No,” and when Alexander continued to stare, “Why does everyone freak out when I say that? It’s just a _theory.”_

“Well sure,” Alexander wrinkled his nose. “But only in the same way that evolution’s a theory. Or…heliocentrism.”

“Well obviously I believe in heliocentrism.” Laurens rolled his eye.  “But I just…I don’t know. The whole reincarnation thing…it just seems like wishful thinking to me. And also totally egotistical. Like, there’s another version of you in every historical timeline and as a race humankind just keeps sort of…repeating its same mistakes over and over? Come on. We’re not that special.”

“It doesn’t exactly work like that,” Alexander explained. “It’s more like…if you consider the Universe one big computer. And there are an infinite number of programs it can run, and in each program there are mathematical variants of you, coded only slightly differently each time. And when you die, that code is rerouted into a different program. But because the Universe is basically rerunning the same code over and over, only with very small changes, its statistically probable that the new versions of you are gonna make pretty similar decisions.”

Laurens looked unconvinced. “Ok, well, I still think it’s bullshit.”

Alexander laughed. “There’s _evidence,_ dude,” he said. “It’s a little late to call bullshit. They proved it already.”

“I don’t care,” said Laurens stubbornly. “Just because the majority says it’s right doesn’t make it true.”

Amusement pulled at the corner of Alexander’s mouth as he reconsidered making the point that that argument worked for Planetary bias and colonialism. Not for, like, science. “Isn’t your dad really big into the research?”

At once Laurens’ cheeks flushed darkly. It was achingly pretty. Alexander wanted to press the heel of his palm to the angle of his jaw, just below the crimson stain. Run his thumb along his bottom lip and pry his mouth apart.

“Yeah,” he muttered reluctantly. “He has a whole shelf in here dedicated to it.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow, the reality of why he was really here suddenly coming back to him. “You don’t say?”

Laurens nodded, scanning the length of the bookcases. “He has an engine part somewhere,” he said. “A piece of Empire tech Ben Franklin gave him. He reckons it’ll push a ship to light speed. Get that shit through a worm-hole and you can go back in time.” He looked boredly at Alexander. “Doesn’t work, obviously. But he’s keeping it for research.”

Alexander watched, heart hammering in his chest as Laurens walked along Row D, tapping his fingers against the shining, polished wood. Even though Ben was no longer talking to him Alexander could sense his excitement, thrumming like electricity through the waves of the microphone as though he were the one with ESP. Finally Laurens paused, said “Aha”, and wrapped his fingers around a book’s spine, sliding it carefully off the shelf.

“It’s this one,” he told Alexander, gripping the heavy tome carefully and blowing off the dust.

 _“The Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration of Mrs Mary Rowlandson,”_ Hamilton read, voice hushed with awe. “What the – this has got to be at least a thousand years old!”

“I know right,” Laurens scowled disapprovingly. “So much history in here and all he does is hollow it out. Look.”

He prised the thick yellow pages apart until they fell open on a deep trough, in the middle of which sat a sleek, black cylindrical object, the end flayed to reveal several spark plugs. It was entirely unassuming, not looking very different from the vast number of engine parts Alexander had handled in his time. Still, as he stared at it, trifling and casual against Laurens’ palm, his breath stuck in his throat. He kept his hand steady, trying not to let his excitement show as he picked it up.

“So uh,” he swallowed. “This is supposed to go in a time machine?”

Laurens’ well-formed, athletic shoulders rose and fell. “Apparently,” he said evasively. “I don’t really know. My dad is super cagey about this stuff. He wouldn’t even tell Congress he has it.”

Forgetting his priorities for a moment, Alexander quirked an eyebrow at him. “You show off your father’s secrets to every boy who comes in here?”

That blush again. Before Alexander could delight in causing it however, Laurens fired back quickly: “Only the pretty ones.”

It was Alexander’s turn to go red, unable to prevent the smile that went with it. For a while they just grinned at each other shyly, stupidly – coy and embarrassed yet oddly delighted for reasons neither of them quite understood.

Finally, Alexander broke the silence. “You should probably get back to your party.”

Laurens nodded. “Yeah, I probably should.”

A few more seconds passed with neither showing further signs of moving. Hamilton laughed, stepping forward and pushing him lightly. “Go on.”

“But then I’d have to stop talking to you,” Laurens mumbled, catching Alexander’s hand and running a thumb over the knuckles.

Alexander’s breath hitched the moment he felt the touch of Laurens’ hand. He was staring down at it as though shocked by his own daring, painfully bright blue eyes blown wide. His gaze shifted to meet Alex’s and suddenly Alexander couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move at all for fear of breaking the spell that held them suspended in time, as if to do so would wreak cosmological devastation.

Just as he was beginning to wonder whether the Universe really had just stopped, Ben’s voice came tearing through the silence. “ALEX. You gotta go. Now.”

The door crashed open. Alexander and Laurens jumped apart as Eliza burst into the room, still looking like a debutante but for the fact that she was carrying a Phaser in one hand.

“Alex!” she exclaimed urgently, without paying the slightest attention to Laurens. “We’ve gotta run, the Redcoats are here. Did you find it?”

“Fuck,” Alexander swore bitterly, tearing his hand out of Laurens’. “Yeah, I got it.”

“What?” Laurens blinked, confusion twisting his features as Alexander caught the pistol Eliza threw at him. “The Redcoats are _here?_ But what do they want with-” he broke off, eyes widening as he stared at Alexander. “You’re Rebellion,” he stated, understanding creeping into his face.

Alexander nodded, gripping the engine part tight as he raised it. “Thanks for this,” he told Laurens. “Courtesy of Independence.”

“Wait!” Laurens cried as Alexander and Eliza made to race back along the corridor. “Take me with you! I know things…I have plans…ideas…they could be of use to General Washington. Please, I want to help!”

Alexander hesitated, feet faltering as he turned back to look at Laurens. Eliza, who was already entering the code for the escape jet, yelled at him. “Alexander, let’s go!”

“Absolutely not,” said Ben through gritted teeth as Alexander gazed into Laurens’ desperate, imploring face, tugging at a string somewhere deep within his chest.

Alexander took a few steps forward, until they were barely an inch apart. He heard Laurens’ breath stutter, eyelashes fluttering. Alex raised a hand to cup his jaw, kissing him softly on the mouth.

“You’ve done your part for Liberty,” he told him, drawing back.

“Alex!”

“Good luck with the squadron,” Alexander tossed over his shoulder quickly, racing back over to Eliza. “It’s a good idea!”

The jet was hovering outside the window. Eliza shot it open with her Phaser, sending glass raining all over the plush carpet. Alexander spared Laurens one last look and a final salute before clambering in after her and jetting into the atmosphere, leaving a broken silver-white trail in their wake.

*

It took Eliza three days to get the part working and for three days Alexander moped around the ship, wretched and miserable, looking for sympathy and receiving none. Eliza, his usual port of call when he was feeling terrible, was too busy to indulge the woes of a broken heart so Alexander was forced to turn to Angelica and Lafayette, both of whom also it seemed had very little time for him.

“The conversation lasted _two minutes,”_ Angela reiterated for maybe the hundredth time. “Maybe three minutes.”

“It was longer than that!” Hamilton protested. “It was long enough, anyway.”

“Long enough for what?”

“Long enough that _I miss him,”_ Alexander buried his face in a cushion and gripped it tightly. “And I’m never going to see him again.”

Angelica and Lafayette exchanged an exasperated glance. Ben threw Alexander a scornful look from where he was entering the coordinates into the shuttle.

“You’re unbelievable,” he told Alexander. “I can’t believe you couldn’t go _one mission_ without trying to get in someone’s pants.”

Alexander lifted his head from the cushion, mouth working indignantly. “I was _not_ trying to get in his pants.”

Ben looked at him disbelievingly. “I know what I heard,” he said.

“Yeah, and who’s fault is that? _Consent,_ Ben. How many times do we have to have this conversation?”

“Clearly, as many times as you keep risking our lives for the sake of…” Lafayette gestured crudely to the front of his pants. Alexander cut his eyes at him.

“It was different this time,” he insisted.

“Why?” Angelica raised an eyebrow. “Because he was rich as well as attractive? Plenty of that where you’re going. And they’ll all be wearing the…what do you call them?”

She glanced at Lafayette for inspiration who shrugged. “Pantyhose?”

“Okay,” said Eliza, appearing from the underside of the shuttle and wiping engine grease off her cheek. “We’re good to go.”

Alexander climbed into the shuttle, making sure the cushions were arranged comfortably before belting himself in. Ben closed the door, quickly checking the calibrations before speaking once again into the microphone.

“Alright, all set,” he said, voice tinny as it echoed across the cramped metallic space. “You’re headed on a straight course through the wormhole. Once you’re on the other side you’ll wake up in a different body; you’ll still have the same memories and everything only his as well. I’ve already sent a map of contact points to your feed if you need to get in touch with us, send word of anything you think will help. Let’s win this war.”

Alexander gave him a thumbs up. Eliza placed a kiss on the glass. “Stay safe,” she mouthed at him.

“Bonne chance!” cried Lafayette.

Angelica nodded. “Good luck.”

Alexander waved at them before laying down against the cushions and making himself comfortable. Ben yanked the lever. Alexander grit his teeth against the sound of clanking metal and the sudden rush of heat as the engine whirred into action; he had barely enough time to feel a jot of fear before the shuttle was released, torpedoing like a cannonball towards another frontier.

Heat. It tore at his skin like hooks through wax. Alex screamed, unable to hear anything but for the roaring of fire and the engine around him as he hurtled through blinding whiteness, so fierce he thought it would melt his eyeballs and then…nothing.

When he next opened his eyes, he was surrounded by trees.

He lifted his chin gingerly from the earth, the smell of vegetation damp in his nostrils, and squinted into the sky. It was largely hidden by the leafy canopy overhead, squares of blue blinking out from behind patches of gold and green, dappling light onto the wet, dark floor. Still, it didn’t take much for Alexander to see it was unlike any sky he’d ever seen before.

He sat up, wincing as his muscles groaned in protest. Looking down he breathed a sigh of relief upon realising he wasn’t naked but was clad in military uniform: tan breaches, linen shirt and a handsome blue coat. He examined his body parts. Despite the pain in his limbs there was no sign of any damage caused by the wormhole. Rather they felt new and strange, the skin soft and raw as if fresh from birth.

The sound of a twig snapping sent Alexander reaching automatically for his waist, and his fingers closed around a gun. He examined the pistol curiously, testing the weight with the reverence he would an antique just as a figure broke through the undergrowth.

“Alexander!”

Alexander’s head snapped up, gaze lifting into a familiar pair of unreally blue eyes.

John Laurens was frowning, heavy brows casting a shadow over his tanned brown face, sharp angles like gold in the fading sunlight. His face was slightly thinner, the hollow of his cheeks more pronounced under the bruise-like shadows that hung beneath his eyes, evidence of not enough food and many a sleepless night. He looked at Alexander, on his knees in the forest mud, his forehead knit with concern.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Alexander staggered to his feet, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. “Um,” he stammered, brain working overtime as he struggled to think of an explanation. “Praying?”

Laurens raised an eyebrow. “…Praying.”

Alexander nodded. “Sure,” he said. “You know. For victory.”

Laurens’ mouth cracked into a smile. He shook his head amusedly, slinging an arm affectionately across Alexander’s shoulders.

“Come on,” he said, driving him forward through the trees. “The General’s waiting for you back at camp. We’ve missed you.”

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know if you thought this was fun or interesting or cute or entirely insane! all reactions are valid as dj khaled! 
> 
> Or if you like, come shout at me for my entire lack of scientific knowledge and unconvincing setting that's also totally valid


End file.
